Chapter 29
The next step, Abigail thought, when she got home from taking Bert to Sunny. It felt strange, and a little sad, she realized, to walk into the house without Bert. It’s just for a short time, she reminded herself. A quick trip—that changed everything.
When Brooks came home, they’d drive to the airport, take the private plane to Virginia, check into their two rooms. She’d have plenty of time to set up the cameras and video feed.
Plenty of time to obsess, worry, overthink, if she let herself.
So she wouldn’t. She focused on the task at hand and began to transform herself into Catherine Kingston.
When Brooks arrived, he called out, “Where’s my woman?” and made her smile.
She was someone’s woman.
“I’m upstairs. Is everything all right?”
“As it can be. Blake’s got his lawyers scrambling, and I expect a deal’s coming along. He might even slip out of this, seeing as Ty was admittedly impaired, but even so, he’ll be done in this town. I don’t expect…” He trailed off as he got to the doorway and saw her.
“I repeat, ‘Where’s my woman?’ ”
“It’s a good job,” she decided, studying herself in the mirror.
The hairstyle and the careful makeup sharpened the angle of her jaw. Contacts darkened the green of her eyes. The careful padding transformed her from slim to curvy.
“They’ll probably ask the hotel for any security feeds, once they know the hotel. We’ll be in by then, but they’ll run them to see when I checked in, and if I came alone. That’s the reason we take separate cabs from the airport, have different check-in times.”
“You look taller.” Eyeing her, he walked over, kissed her. “Definitely taller.”
“I have lifts in my shoes. Just an inch, but it adds to the illusion. If any of this leaks to one of Volkov’s moles, they shouldn’t be able to match me.
Abigail’s not in the system, and that’ll make it very hard to connect Catherine Kingston or Elizabeth Fitch to Abigail Lowery. I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’ll get the bags.”
He’d never flown private, and decided he could get used to it. No lines, no delays, no crowds, and the flight itself smooth and quiet.
And he liked the wide leather chairs positioned so he could face Abigail—or Catherine, he supposed—and the way the light played over her face as they winged north.
“They’ve started a fresh file on Cosgrove and Keegan,” Abigail told him, as she worked her laptop. “They’ve applied for warrants to monitor their electronics and communications. They may find something. Cosgrove especially tends to be careless. He gambles,” she added, “both online and in casinos.”
“How’s he do?”
“He loses more than he wins, from what I’ve gathered through his finances, and his gambling pattern, it was the gambling—and the losses—that allowed the Volkovs to pressure him into working for them while I was under protection.”
“Gambling problem,” Brooks speculated. “And he caves when pressured. How would he respond to an anonymous source claiming to have information about his connection to the Volkovs?”
She glanced up, tipped down the large framed sunglasses she’d added to her illusion. “That’s an interesting question.”
“If he folds under pressure, blackmail might push him into making a mistake.”
“He’s not as smart as Keegan, which is why he hasn’t moved up the ranks as smoothly, I believe—in the marshals or the Volkov organization. I calculated the Volkovs would have eliminated him by now, but apparently he’s seen as having some value.”
“Have you ever done any fishing?” Brooks asked her.
“No. It appears like a tedious pastime or occupation. I don’t understand what fishing has to do with Cosgrove or the Volkovs.”
He pointed at her. “First, I’m going to take you fishing sometime, and you’ll see the difference between restful and tedious. Second, sometimes you hook a little fish and it can lead to a bigger catch.”
“I don’t think…oh. It’s a metaphor. Cosgrove is the little fish.”
“There you go. Hooking him might be worth a try.”
“Yes, it might. Greed responds to greed, and his primary motivation is money. A threat, something with just enough information that proves the source has evidence. And if he uses his electronics or phones to communicate, they’d have enough to question him.”
“Which could lead to that bigger fish. And it’d add more weight to your testimony.” He held out the bag of pretzels he opened, but Abigail shook her head. “What’s your bait?”
“Because you need bait to hook even a little fish.”
With a nod, he bit into a pretzel. “Wait till you drown your first worm.”
“I don’t even like the sound of that. However, there was a woman in witness protection after testifying against her former boyfriend, a low-level gangster involved with the Volkovs’ prostitution ring in Chicago.
She was found raped and beaten to death in Akron, Ohio, three months after the conviction. ”
“Was Cosgrove her handler?”
“No, he wasn’t assigned to her, but everything I was able to gather at the time pointed to his being the one to pass her information on to his Volkov contact. I know enough to compose a believable and threatening message.”
“Another pebble in the river.”
“What river? The one with the fish?”
Laughing, he gave her foot a bump with his. “Could be, except if we were sticking with that metaphor, you don’t want to be tossing any pebbles. Might scare those fish away.”
“I’m confused.”
“In this metaphorical river, we toss the pebbles because we want a lot of ripples.”
“Oh. A pebble, then.” She considered this for a moment, then began to compose.
Anya Rinki testifies against Dimitri Bardov. July 8, 2008. Enters the Witness Protection Program. New ID: Sasha Simka. Transferred to Akron, Ohio; employed as sales clerk at Monique’s Boutique.
Case assigned to Deputy U.S. Marshal Robyn Treacher. Case files accessed by William Cosgrove October 12 and 14, 2008—no log-in or official request for same on record.
Copy of e-mail from personal account of William Cosgrove to account of Igor Bardov, brother of Dimitri, sent October 15, 2008, attached.
$15,000 deposited in account for William Dwyer a/k/a William Cosgrove on October 16, 2008.
Anya Rinki, a/k/a Sasha Simka, found raped and murdered October 19, 2008.
This data will be e-mailed to Administrator Wayne Powell within forty-eight hours unless you agree to a payment of $50,000. Details on the remittance of same to be given in the next communication.
“I think that’s a nicely formed pebble,” she said, and turned the screen so Brooks could read it.
His smile spread slowly before he shifted his gaze from the screen to her face. “Good shape, good weight. You had all those dates in your head?”
“They’re accurate.”
“What’s the content of the e-mail you’re going to attach?”
“It said: ‘Sasha Simka, Akron, 539 Eastwood, Apartment 3-B.’ ”
The smile faded as Brooks eased back from the computer screen. “So Cosgrove killed her for fifteen thousand.”
“Yes, not personally beating her to death doesn’t make him any less responsible. I believe he’ll respond to this. I believe he’ll agree to pay. As soon as I know the surveillance is in place, I’ll send it.”
“What did they pay him for you?”
His tone, hard and cold, had her taking a moment to shut down her laptop. “He owed fifty thousand in gambling debts. Ilya bought—they’re called markers—he bought Cosgrove’s markers, then used the debt to threaten him.”
“And when you weren’t…eliminated?”
“They forgave half, and required him to work off the rest. The fee, even though I lived, was considerably more than the fee for Anya Rinki. You’d have to conclude Korotkii is worth more to Sergei Volkov than Dimitri Bardov.”
He spoke quietly now, and with absolute certainly. “They’ll pay, Abigail, for what they did to you, to Anya Rinki, to all the others. I swear it to you.”
“I don’t want you to make a vow over something you may not be able to control.”
His gaze never wavered from hers. “Whatever it takes, however long it takes.”
Because it touched her, and frightened her a little, she glanced out the window. “We’re starting our descent.”
“Nervous?”
“No.” She took a moment to be sure. “No, I’m not nervous about what happens next. It’s surprising, really, how completely I was convinced I could never do this. And now how completely I’m convinced I can, and must. And the difference is…” She took his hand, linked fingers. “This. Just this.”
“This”—he tightened his grip—“is pretty damn important.”
* * *
She checked in a full thirty minutes before Brooks, so by the time he knocked on her door she’d already positioned the cameras and mics in the sitting area of what the hotel called an executive suite. In his room—across the hall and two doors down—she set up the monitors, linked the equipment.
In just over an hour, she’d set, interfaced and tested the equipment.
“As soon as we make contact, the feds will put men on the hotel,” Brooks told her.
“I know. But the sooner the better.” Nothing more to do, she determined. No more precautions to take. “Let’s make the call.”
She had to wait alone, but found it comforting to know he could watch her.
So she worked while she waited, and, when she had confirmation on the warrant on Cosgrove’s and Keegan’s electronics, programmed a time lag of two hours—long enough for the surveillance to be in place—to send her blackmail note.
A pebble in the river, she thought, and looked directly at the camera and smiled.
As she monitored activities, she knew exactly when the plane carrying Assistant Director Gregory Cabot and Special Agent Elyse Garrison cleared for takeoff to Dulles International.
“They’re on their way now,” she said clearly, “and should land at Dulles in about an hour and forty minutes.”
She checked her watch, calculated. “I’d estimate they’ll be in the hotel by ten. They may still opt to watch and wait until morning, but I think they’ll come to me tonight, as it puts control in their hands, or they’d believe it would.”